


the trick of finding what you didn't lose

by scrapbullet



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Not Beta Read, Post War of the Ring, Valinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 15:47:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/623829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/pseuds/scrapbullet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo huffs around his pipe, frowning as he withdraws it to blow smoke-rings into the sunset. "If I had wanted company I would be at the party," he mutters sharply, indignant. "And since I am not I think that it is quite obvious that I desire solitude."</p>
            </blockquote>





	the trick of finding what you didn't lose

When all is said and done Bilbo finds himself standing upon a long and deserted stretch of beach. The sand between his toes is soft and damp as he ponders; puffing on his favourite pipe, the gentle roar of the waves rolling forward and back the only music he might care to listen to this night.

Valinor is a beautiful place, to be sure, but it is no Shire, no Hobbiton, no _Bag End_ , and his heart cries out for some semblance of home. Oh, there is his dear Frodo, of course, but the lad is quite busy scrubbing away the grief and old-fear, the nightmares that continue to linger, and Bilbo cannot help but think that he has been torn unequivocally in two.

One half yearns for peace, yes. Peace and home and a little garden of herbs and flowers to tend, and perhaps a well-stocked larder. 

It sounds so very dull.

And the other? Oh, what he would not give for the weight of Sting in his hand once more.

So deeply does he reflect that he does not hear the approach of heavy footsteps; but Bilbo has always been a slave to whimsy as he matured. These footsteps pause; two sets utterly still and one kicking up sand. 

"You seem, to me, as if you have had enough of adventures," one says.

Bilbo startles, hand to chest, but ignores them in lieu of his Longbottom Leaf, the very last of his now-depleted store. 

"But that cannot be!" says another. "That doesn't sound like Master Baggins at all!"

"Perhaps he has gotten old." 

"Well, he does look rather haggard-"

_"Kili-"_

"What? I only speak the truth!"

Bilbo huffs around his pipe, frowning as he withdraws it to blow smoke-rings into the sunset. "If I had wanted company I would be at the party," he mutters sharply, indignant. "And since I am not I think that it is quite obvious that I desire solitude." 

Fili and Kili have the good grace to appear sheepish.

Balin, on the hand, blinks, all wide-eyed innocence. It does not suit him. "But is it not your party, Master Baggins?"

Bilbo scowls. "Not mine, no; just the _welcoming committee_ , I wager. I care little for such things." He waves his pipe imperiously.

"That is not what the _young_ Master Baggins says."

"Perhaps Bilbo has forgotten us," Fili intones sadly, and there is a mischievous glint in his serious face as he looks upon Bilbo, now so aged and decrepit in comparison, "though we have certainly not forgotten _him_."

"Uncle hasn't." Kili's grin turns distinctly lecherous.

The elder brother hums in agreement. "There are few that could forget our beloved burglar."

"What I would not give for peace and quiet!" Bilbo exclaims, though his heart simply isn't in it. Long has the thing in his chest beat slow and languid, stagnant without those that had once lightened it. Strange, how the ache in his chest has begun to ease at the sight of his old friends, and as the salt-water spray of the sea soaks the very tips of Bilbo's hairy toes he is pervaded by a sense of absolute _belonging_.

And who says that this cannot be his last, great adventure?

"Come," says Balin, and he hooks his arm through Bilbo's elbow with ease, "there is a great feast and as guest of honour you must regale us with your tales."

"Oh, if I must-" and Bilbo allows himself to be led, post-haste, to the revelry.

-

Later, when the candles have long been extinguished and his throat is sore from much story-telling, Bilbo is surprised when Thorin himself settles onto the ground beside him, and takes his hand.

Bilbo is warm from ale and companionship. "My friend, I've missed you, so-"

"Hush," Thorin says, and his thumb gentles over Bilbo's knuckles. "You have spoken much already." It sounds like forgiveness.

They sit, and the silence is a comfort.

When Bilbo finally drifts off to sleep there are lips upon his own, chaste and gentle.


End file.
